


Echoes

by sonotok



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20, 15x20 Fix-It, 15x20 coda, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonotok/pseuds/sonotok
Summary: “Hey Cas,” he directed at the blindingly clear blue sky, “you got your ears on?” He paused, feeling the dim hope that those seven words would be enough to draw him here being slowly overtaken by the churning fear that he would be left alone no matter what he said. “I know you’re busy rebuilding heaven or whatever, but uh… I was hoping we could talk.” He searched the empty sky for a moment before adding, for once, “No rush. I can wait.”
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [“Hello Dean”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655993) by [Mcdanno_raf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mcdanno_raf/pseuds/Mcdanno_raf). 



He had been wondering, ever since he spent that first day in heaven, when he would hear those words again. _If_ he would hear them. They echoed in his head every time fabric shifted behind him, every time he’d turned in hopeful wonder that went sour the instant he realized that no, it hadn’t been the whisper of wings he knew so well. The disappointment was dampened, of course. Something about being in heaven – and wasn’t that crazy, he thought, to be able to say – soothed those bad feelings. But he could still feel the emptiness, the longing, the… guilt, holding him back from elation and tugging at the edges of his peace. But peace was enough. It had to be.

Heaven didn’t cure you of your neuroses, it turned out. Dean was the same person, just himself on his best days. So sometimes in the quiet sunshine, he would find himself wading in the same muddy waters of self-reflection that had plagued him in empty motel rooms off countless highways. He would ruminate on his failings, wishing he could change them, and in the end he accepted most of their results. But his inner negativity had a favorite failing, and sometimes when his remorse peaked he would find his eyes closing and fingers lacing as though to pray. Every time, though, Bobby’s voice would come to bounce around inside his skull, weaponized by the muted but vicious thoughts directed at himself. _“It’s the heaven you deserve.”_

In kinder times of isolated quietude, Bobby’s voice echoed other things. _“Everything you could ever want, or need, or dream”_ and _“What are you gonna do now?”_ looping incessantly, like they were linked, like he was missing something important. And although his heart was open – more open than it had ever been in life – he couldn’t connect them.

In the timeless golden stretch, people had mentioned him. His parents, his brother, his friends. They asked if Dean had seen him. If he had his powers back. What he was up to. “Dude’s busy,” he would say easily enough, with a soft smile that he absently hoped didn’t betray the way those questions pulled at his heart. Now, sitting on the porch steps of his parent’s house, beer bottle dangling from his fingers while he listened to approaching footsteps, he felt the old whisper of hope that in this conversation he wouldn’t have to say it again.

“You know, for being in heaven you don’t seem all that happy.” His mother’s voice was light, even a little playful. He fell into that practiced, gentle smile and laughed softly as she settled beside him.

“I’m content,” he said, looking out over the treetops. It was the truth. He watched the drifting clouds, trying not to think too much about what the dazzling bright blue of the sky reminded him of.

In life, Dean always had a relaxed kind of tension. Not aggressive, but ready to defend himself and his choices in an instant. And everyone he talked to, he knew, reflected that tension in their approach to starting a conversation. For the most part, an attempt at changing his mind would end in an argument, and between Dean’s stubbornness and the hurt feelings, nothing would change. But it was different here. Here, he didn’t feel threatened. He thought he was doing what was best, but he wouldn’t fight for his position. If someone disagreed, that was fine. Hell, if his mom made a convincing case, he thought as he took another pull from the bottle, he’d even change his mind.

They sat together in a comfortable silence. Then his mother simply said, “You should pray to him,” and Dean supposed the case didn’t have to be so convincing after all.

\--

Dean took Baby for a ride. He’d spent a lot of time on the road since getting to heaven. He didn’t have to worry about gas or tires or oil changes. It was just him, his dad’s tapes, and Baby’s purring engine. Sometimes the roads were straight, with flat plains stretching out as far as he could see in every direction. Sometimes they wound through mountains with tall trees shading them from the golden sun. It was whatever he wanted it to be. Usually he didn’t know where he was. This time, though, he was cutting a diagonal line through Kansas from east to west, and he was coming up on his destination. He knew by the feeling, the one he always got when a nice long drive was coming to an end, when his head was clear because he’d had enough time to think everything through. He felt conviction tightening the muscles along his spine and realized he’d missed it – that feeling of being ready to fight for what you believe in.

He pulled Baby onto the dirt shoulder of the empty two-lane highway and straightened his bolo tie. He imagined that if he had done this while he was alive, he’d have been too self-conscious to dress this way. But here, he knew two things: Everyone knew he loved this style, and only one other person would see him in these clothes. Well, “person” being a loose term. He stepped out onto the asphalt, settling his hat on his head and fastening one button on his suit jacket before turning to look at the expanse of road behind him. He lifted his face skyward, wondering how appropriate the motion was considering he was already in heaven, and fisted his hands against the nerves twisting dully in his stomach.

“Hey Cas,” he directed at the blindingly clear blue sky, “you got your ears on?” He paused, feeling the dim hope that those seven words would be enough to draw him here being slowly overtaken by the churning fear that he would be left alone no matter what he said. “I know you’re busy rebuilding heaven or whatever, but uh… I was hoping we could talk.” He searched the empty sky for a moment before adding, for once, “No rush. I can wait.”

It was silent. And the silence stretched. After some time, he dropped his gaze back to the highway. A breeze stirred the sparse brush. His nerves twisted more sharply, mocking voices beginning to whisper at the base of his skull. He let out a breath and turned to the car, trying to decide how long he would sit in the driver’s seat before starting the engine. But as his fingers curled around the handle, he heard a faint sound to his left, like the end of a wingbeat, like feathers shifting against each other. That same hopeful wonder welled up unbidden in his chest, and he felt for a split second like a child who couldn’t learn their lesson. But when he turned his head, the road wasn’t empty.

_“Everything you could ever want,”_

“Hello Dean.”

_“or need,”_

Those words.

_“or dream.”_

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Hey Cas.”

The angel was as he had always appeared to Dean, hair dark, eyes intense. He wore the same clothes Dean had grown so familiar with, had missed so much that he’d carried a trench coat in his trunk since the seraph left. Since the Empty took him.

Cas just stood there, staring at him with his head tilted a little, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted. He looked like he wanted to say something, apologize maybe, but after a silent beat Dean closed the distance in three long strides and pulled him forward into a tight hug. His palms were sweating, his heartrate soaring, and it felt pure, like the one moment of joy he had in that year in Purgatory. Castiel reacted now as he had then, arms hanging at his side, his posture unsure as he let himself be hugged. After maybe too long, Dean stepped back, holding Cas at arm’s length by his shoulders as he said, “you son of a bitch,” with a huge, lopsided grin painted across his face. Castiel regarded him unsurely as Dean’s eyes raked down him and back up.

“Well, ya look great,” Dean said happily when his eyes landed back on the angel’s face. He smacked his shoulder affectionately before releasing him and stepping back to a respectable distance.

Castiel’s eyes were a bit more open, brows less pensive, and after a moment he manage a “thank you.” Dean reveled in the low rumble of his voice; it set his whole body buzzing, and Cas had only said four words.

“You know, I said ‘don’t ever do that again,’” Dean chastised, half joking. Castiel tilted his head further, expression serious.

“I was not stabbed by a reaper again.”

Dean let out a huff of a laugh. How had he not expected that response?

“I meant dying in general,” he said, waving one hand to emphasize _general_. “But it doesn’t matter now. I’m dead and you’re… at full power?” The statement turned into a question as he realized that he had only assumed Jack would restore Cas entirely. “Wings and all?” He waved a hand again to emphasize _all_. A corner of Castiel’s mouth quirked up before he answered.

“Yes, my grace has been fully restored, wings and all.” The smile grew, and he leaned forward conspiratorially as he added, “I still don’t have a harp though.” Dean’s mouth split back into that grin and a tangle of emotion bloomed in his chest. Cas had cracked a joke. _“You’ve changed me.”_

“Right,” Dean said, still grinning, “so it’s not like you’ll have to risk your life to save my ass again.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, smiles fading comfortably as they stared at the ground between them.

Then, “You shouldn’t have, you know.”

When Castiel lifted his gaze, Dean was squinting at him in the blazing sun, expression stern. He spread his hands as he continued, “I ended up here sooner than I thought anyway.” Dean pushed down his hazy frustration – that nagging disbelief that after everything he beat, everything he killed, all the wins against monsters and Death and Lucifer and _Chuck_ , it was a vampire and a friggin’ spike that did him in – and stared at Cas expectantly from under the brim of his hat.

Castiel remained quiet, attention rapt, staring back with those unyielding eyes squinting at the hunter from beneath his furrowed brows like he was searching Dean’s whole soul for the reasons behind his words. Then he said, “I don’t regret it, Dean,” like he really could see Dean’s soul. “Saving you, _confessing_ – ” his voice went strange on the word, filled with emotions Dean couldn’t unravel, but blue eyes bore relentlessly into hazel as he said, “I would do it all again if it meant saving you.”

As the words sank in, Dean felt his frustration rising against his defenses, anger bubbling over the sudden vulnerability, protecting him from it. He didn’t know where to look – down at his hands like they were bloody, up at the sky like he was asking for patience and strength, at Castiel’s face that openly repeated the sentiment of the words he’d memorized in that timeless span before this moment ( _I want you. I love you. I’ll leave you to make you happy_ ).

“Cas– ” he began, drawing the diminutive out like a warning.

“You don’t have to say anything,” the angel dismissed, voice hard, resignation underlining the words. “When I said those things, I never expected anything from you. I still don’t.” His gaze was fixed somewhere around Dean’s knees. “When you got here, I wasn’t sure if I should come to you, wasn’t sure you’d want me to. But you prayed to me, and” – he paused, eyes flicking up to make meaningful eye contact – “you know I always come when you call.”

Dean was met with a rush of memories – of praying to this angel, asking for his help, his salvation – and of Castiel appearing, saving them from the traps that they walked into, guiding them in their searches, saying “ _I could go with you”_ when _going with him_ meant certain death. He felt a pang then, one that breathed life to a sense of longing that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about. He missed it. Tracking, hunting, finding evil and killing it, saving people. But the most familiar part of that feeling was missing Cas. Missing the security of going into a hunt with an angel by his side, the sweeping relief of Castiel appearing and massacring those that would dare endanger the Winchesters, the steady presence that said _I will protect you_ and _I won’t leave unless I have to_. He swallowed against the onslaught.

“I know I don’t have to,” he said. The angel’s eyes dropped to the ground, and Dean stepped into his line of sight, cocking his head to the side and lowering it until Cas met his gaze. “But I want to.” Castiel held his gaze as the hunter straightened, tan-clad shoulders slumping in a way that seemed equal parts relief and resignation. Dean took that as permission to continue. “I spent my life not saying what I wanted, because it wasn’t the right time or because I was… scared. But I’m so sick of being scared.” He took another half step forward, holding the seraph’s gaze like he would a bird, gentle, but firm enough that he couldn’t fly away. “Cas, what you said to me… I must’ve replayed it a million times in my head ‘til I knew it by heart, and somehow I still don’t understand how you could see me the way you do.” Castiel broke the staring contest, looking maybe a little hurt, but Dean plowed on. “But you changed me too. Man, you fell in love with the world, and you made me see it in a different way. I could see beyond the monsters and the next hunt…”

The angel still looked hurt, his eyes like storm clouds. Dean took a steadying breath, inching closer to continue. “Cas, I have _never_ been good with words, and that probably won’t ever change. But losing you,” he broke off to swallow the sudden knot in his throat. His eyes stung. “Damnit, I’ve lost you way too many times, and each one hurt more than the last, bec-“ a breath “because each time you meant more to me.”

Castiel’s eyes flicked up again, a carefully masked something behind them, and for a moment a smile tugged at Dean’s lips, a soft _there he is_. “You’re family, _of course_ you’re family, you’ve always been family. But you’re not my brother, and I never wanted you to be.” The angel’s head turned sharply, down and away, and if Dean hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he’d been punched. The bottom of the hunter’s stomach dropped out at that reaction. “No, Cas, I don’t mean… What I’m trying to say is – _Damnit_ , why is this so _hard_?” Dean stepped away, giving them both some room to breathe, pinching the bridge of his nose as he racked his brain for the right words. He had been so sure on the drive, he’d thought it would be simple.

“Dean,” Cas began, his voice rough, “you don’t– “

“No!” Dean interrupted, too harsh and too loud, then quickly, “No, Cas, I _do_ have to. Don’t stop me this time, you always try to stop me, you did it when we got that _stupid_ flower and you’re doing it now, and I need to say this because if I don’t say it now I don’t know when I’ll _ever_ say it, so just give me a minute.” Then, to emphasize his desperation, a stony “ _Please_.”

Castiel nodded, shifting, looking powerful and vulnerable in one. The nerves twisted again, hissing self-loathing in his ear, and Dean huffed a breath against them.

“Okay, let me try this again.” Another, slower breath. “First, thank you. I don’t think I ever said it, but thank you for pulling me out of hell – the first time when it was” his mouth twisted in a half-fond, half-bitter smile “ _perdition_ and then all the other times that just felt like hell. You were always there.” Dean checked Castiel’s face to make sure his words were landing the way he wanted them to. His expression was intense, scrutinizing, pulling Dean back into the barn with his _what’s the matter?_ stare. Good enough. “When I stop to think about it, I don’t think life… I don’t think our _family_ was complete until you came into it. I know that part of you always felt like we only wanted you around because we needed your help, but that’s not true. We wanted you th– _I_ wanted you there… because it didn’t feel right without you.” He mustered the courage to meet those intense eyes. “It never feels right without you.”

He moved closer and continued, “This time when you were gone, I really thought I was never gonna see you again. You said the Empty would take you forever, and then Jack became God and you still weren’t back so I just figured He couldn’t find a way to save you. And then I got up here and Bobby said you were alive, and you never came around so I figured you didn’t want to see me because I should’ve… because I have so much to apologize for. And I know I should’ve prayed sooner and I should’ve just said something then, when it happened, and I’m sorry I didn’t, but we’re here now and I can’t _not_ say something, so I gotta tell you man, you’re a dumbass– ” Castiel flinched and Dean gritted his teeth against the rising _why can’t I do anything right?_ and _I don’t know why I get so angry._ “You’re a dumbass for thinking you couldn’t have what you wanted.” The angel’s pensive expression slowly shifted into one of surprise and hesitant hope. “If you thought you couldn’t have me,” Dean added, clarifying, trying to drop the angry tone that always – god, why did it _always_ – took over his voice and forcing himself feel the pain he’d been burying. He moved closer, definitively into the seraph’s space, and continued. “Cas, I’ve been here. I know most of the time I didn’t treat you the way you deserved, but I have _always_ been here. You’ve always had me.” Castiel’s expression was soft with surprise and wonder. Dean lifted his hands, which were absolutely _not_ trembling, to the angel’s face, thumbs on his cheeks and fingers grazing the hair behind his ears, eyes burning and blurry. “I love you, Cas.”

The angel’s expression didn’t change, and Dean wasn’t sure what to make of that, wasn’t sure if he’d messed up and said something wrong _again_. But then something flashed in those eyes, lightening in the rain, and Castiel’s hand found the back of Dean’s neck and pulled, forehead knocking the brim of his hat out of the way as he crashed their lips together. And Dean… froze.

Then, he kissed back, feeling the warmth radiating off the angel, the stubble on Castiel’s chin competing with his own, the rough-soft lips moving against him. Something swept through him, emanating from the hands on his neck and back, the nose brushing his, those lips. It felt electric, shocking the anger out of him, then like collapsing on his bed after a successful hunt, like the sun warming him through Baby’s windows, like the thrumming undercurrent of knowing everyone he loved was safe and happy and at peace, even if all but one were dead. And this was it, he realized. This was the thing he’d seen in everyone else, the thing he knew was being interrupted when his family and friends cast him those doleful glances. Elation, euphoria, _rapture_. The steady, immovable knowledge that he was safe and _free_.

They parted slowly, foreheads resting, arms unmoving, and Bobby’s voice echoed in Dean’s head again.

“Well I don’t know about you, Cas,” Dean murmured, cradling that familiar face with both hands, hat forgotten on the pavement, reveling in the soft grace-induced glow behind his angel’s eyes, “but the one thing _I_ want is right in front of me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: This was **heavily** inspired by [Mcdanno_raf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mcdanno_raf/pseuds/Mcdanno_raf)'s ["Hello, Dean."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655993) If you enjoyed this story, please check out that one as well. This fic was read and approved by Mcdanno_raf before it was uploaded. Thanks for reading! 💙💜❤️


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